


The Fires of Kaon

by sparklight



Series: Evolution of a Revolution [1]
Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Minor Character Death, Pre-War Cybertron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... or the death of Emirate Xeon, the first act in a cybertronian tragedy play.</p>
<p>Pre-war Cybertron, with basically mere moments before the war is officially declared - Emirate Xeon goes about his morning while plans are being made underground, and in the height of summer, this bright day will light up far more than the colours of Kaon's citizens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fires of Kaon

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a soundtrack, Let's Start a Riot by Three Days Grace is... very fitting. ;)

**The city-state of Kaon, the capitol city Kolkular.**

The plaza in front of Kaon's Grand Oratory was busy as always. A teeming, skittering throng of attention seekers, complainers, loud-mouths and other people with _opinions_. Once in a while, one of them could actually be turned into something useful for the city-state. That, of course, wasn't often, and the Emirate of Kaon, Xeon of Kolkular, didn't often take the longer route by stopping at the edge of the plaza and walk among them to the Grand Oratory.

Sometimes he _did_ , both for appearances sake and for that random mech that turned out to have at least half a processor in their helms, but today wasn't that day. Today he got out right by the steps of the Oratory, barely turning back to cast a glance across the empty space beyond the steps to the crowds further away before he entered the building.

It was _far too early_ for this, in Xeon's opinion. Others had, of course, been up since the first cycle of this first joor of the day, but that was _their_ job. His job shouldn't need to involve being up before the first joor. Even the last cycle of the first joor. Waving off the approaching council members as he crossed the entrance hall for the elevator, Xeon flashed them a brief smile.

"Later, gentlemechs. We have a session today and I assure you, my audio receptors will be all yours then." He gave a little tilt of his helm as the elevator doors closed - with said council members on the _other_ side of them. Such was the privilege of the emirate to not only have an elevator for himself, but the implicit politeness that one didn't enter it with him unless expressly invited.

Blessed silence.

As the elevator rose, Xeon pulled out a datapad with some slight hesitation and reviewed the items of the as-of-yet not updated agenda for the council session today. He wanted to be sure he knew what had been there before he got the updated one the moment he stepped into his office. More so he knew who to single out later than any interest in the original agenda... unless any point from the original one _or_ the changed agenda turned out to actually be important.

He wasn't _impossible_ , after all.

But his time _and attention_ was valuable and Kaon ran on his say-so.

"... _again_ , Sigma? ... hm, Krosos might have something interesting to say for once, however..." muttering comments as he went over each item, Xeon didn't bother with the view. It was too early, and today the intricate pattern that revealed itself as the elevator rose higher through the floors of the Grand Oratory would only be giving him a processor ache. Especially with the way the mid-morning sunlight was drenching the curving slopes of eastern Kolkular as it rose above Kaon City proper. He'd take a moment to enjoy the view later, even if the view from his office didn't face the same way as the elevator.

The elevator opened with a musical hum of arrival, and Xeon stepped into his office, all ready to go and sit down and _relax_. As such, then, only fact that his secretary didn't round the desk but merely stood up and held out two datapads saved the slender mech from being roundly ignored and a few cycles of overtime later in the day.

"Emirate, good morning," Oasis said, offering the datapads between two elegantly long fingers until Xeon took them, laying them on top of his own with an expression of patient suffering. His secretary was lucky he was a delight to _listen to_ as well as look at, _and_ clever enough to not scour the electrum off his wiring in irritation. 

"Those contain the updated queries for the solstice celebrations, suggestions for projects and a few offered fiscal plans for infrastructure repair. Energon's on your desk to your usual specifications, and I included some personal offers for your consideration," Oasis inclined his helm just a fraction, indicating the datapad he'd so far not talked about. Xeon allowed himself a faint smile as he realised what that datapad contained, and given at least one other meeting today, council session or no council session, it'd have been a win _personally_.

"Thank you, Oasis. Any other items for my consideration?"

He already knew, of course, but the routine was pleasant even if it was still much too early for this and there was sometimes a surprise or two.

Those large, burningly amber optics flickered and Oasis shook his helm slowly, a studied move to let the sunlight that fell in through the window behind Xeon to slide lovingly over light-gilded gold, copper and pale blue angles and planes. Colours and angles that were a delight to watch... and touch, if that would ever be an inclination. 

Xeon, however, did not touch those who worked for him, whether they might _want to_ or not - though Oasis had never expressed any sort of even vaguest of interests - but _looking_ was something he indulged in... and Oasis indulged him right back.

"Merely the council session today, set for second joor, third cycle, I'm sending you the updated agenda for that now; your fourth-cycle meal with the emissary from Kalis, and the meeting with the polyhexian representative. Are you sure you don't wish me to change the venue for that meeting, Emirate..?" Oasis trailed off with a slight tilt to his helm, a frown marring the clean lines of his powder blue faceplate, even if it was somewhat mitigated by the golden mask. Still, this mech wasn't one that ought to _frown_.

Xeon waved his hand and turned away, already crossing the room as he spoke.

"No thank you, Oasis. The representative and I both share an interest in sports, so it will be a nicely _informal_ location."

Oasis' murmured 'yes, Emirate' was cut off on the last syllables as the door to Xeon's office closed behind him, offering up a wall-to-wall view of the skyline of Kolkular - and, further away, Kaon - behind his desk and the soothing greens and bronzes of the wider interior.

Putting two of the three datapads down on his desk, Xeon picked up the tall, twisting glass with energon and forewent his chair to stand by the window. This high up, the only thing clearly visible of the city was the greater pattern of the various levels that made up the surface of Kolkular, the swell of the hill the city lay on, like the suggestion of a spark chamber hidden beneath. You saw neither faults nor glories from here, though the great plumes of smoke and distorted air that rose from the industrial smelting pits scattered around Kaon City proper _could_ be seen from here.

The only reason he didn't mind them was that they were proof of Kaon still having an industrial economy _and_ because they drew lilleths to play in the updrafts. Little winks of jewel-like neon gasses and flashes of bright metal so delicate it seemed like glass, so fragile and yet playing so close to the superheated doom that the smelting pits were.

Too early. He was getting _poetic_.

With a snort, Xeon turned the datapad online and couldn't help the smile that flickered forth. Four offers of... ah, personal betterment. Three of which would solve one of the parts for the coming solstice celebrations, and two of the infrastructure construction issues. Which meant he could strike three looming processor aches from his agenda.

And add more credits to his accounts.

Smiling, Xeon sat down at his desk to finish his energon before it was time to leave to meet the representative. He could probably pick up the next little... _gift_ while he was there as well.

The underground gladiatior rings were certainly _generous_ , and while he had no taste for _that_ sort of brutality, he wasn't one to be discriminating with his good favour in the face of such ardent respects paid to him.

***  
 **The city of Kaon, Gladiator Arena.**

The suns rose in the sky until their light poured directly into the largest and oldest gladiator arena in the whole of the continental torus state of Kaon. Arugably the oldest on Cybertron as well, though there were a few other city-states that contested that claim. 

Mid-morning slowly slid towards late morning as the figure, alone in the ring, worked through his set, sword flashing in the light. Nearby, the shield lay discarded on the ground, each step making it tremble slightly until Megatron finally stopped, resting the tip of the sword against the ground and tilted his helm back.

Perhaps he should have tried to plan for things to be set in motion around the storm season instead of _now_ , at the height of summer. Electrical summer storms were far harder to time events to, mostly because they did not last for mega-cycles like the ones during storm season. Not that he needed a storm just to inaugurate what was about to begin, but it'd have been more dramatic. If nothing else, a good opener required some pomp and drama. Shaking his helm, Megatron hefted his sword and picked up his shield, turning for the exit. He'd simply have to add the needed drama in another way, which had been the plan _either way_.

This had been a long time coming, and it'd been clear three vorn back that they'd be ready around now.

And now...

_Now_ things would be bared to the light, so maybe the weather was very suitable in a way. He smiled at that thought, a tiny, sharp slash across his faceplate as he passed under the arch of the entrance and into the shadowed coolness of the backstage of the arena. A few mechs almost immediately passed him by to take advantage of the now-abandoned ring for their own training. Not that it wasn't more than large enough to accommodate more than one mech training, but when Megatron took the ring, he was given the privilege of training in it alone unless someone else was invited. 

Not that most of the gladiators now taking up the arena floor, taking advantage of training to fight in the glaring sunlight, were necessarily interested in the training. There were... other things, going on today. But for those things to happen, appearances of normalcy had to be kept.

Halfway to his destination through the winding corridors of the barracks of the arena, Megatron gained a companion and a second shadow. He briefly brushed his fingers along the top of Ravage's head when the techanimal-shaped cybertronian slid close, and then just as soon darted away again, melting into the shadows.

"The Emirate?" Megatron asked as they walked together, tapping his sword against his leg in time with the faint, clicking noises from Ravage, which was the only thing seen or heard of him. The clicking that Ravage further _allowed_ to be heard. If he didn't want to be heard or seen, he could be as silent as smoke and no more visible than air.

"Will be on time," Soundwave intoned, though there was a trailing quality to his rich monotone as Megatron took a left instead of a right, and Megatron chuckled.

"Excellent. It means almost everything is ready, and what's missing is merely a few details. I'd like your assistance, Soundwave," Megatron said as he went into the washracks, Soundwave stopping in the doorway despite the request. He was hardly about to intrude until he knew _what_ it was Megatron wanted assistance with... but also, obviously, picking up on the few items on the floor that were a new feature to the room.

A small pile of rags, a container of cleanser different from the standard-grade one, a sander, polisher and an etching tool.

"As you wish, Megatron. May I--- ah."

It wasn't often Soundwave floundered, but he did so now as Megatron disconnected first the fusion cannon, then the large one on his right shoulder and the smaller one on his left, laying them each in turn down on the floor. Soundwave would've taken them for him, he knew, but that was hardly _necessary_.

"This begins today, Soundwave," Megatron's voice rumbled as he spoke, barely louder than the turn of his own engine, and the words almost got lost when he turned the washrack on and stepped in under the spray, "from today and on, we will no longer be _hiding_ , no longer ply our plans from the shadows. Today, the Council's carefully constructed meaningless and _neutered_ path for us will fall, and the Decepticons will rise." 

Carefully contained and long-banked frustration briefly bled to the surface as Megatron's voice went from soft thunder to filling the whole washracks with his contempt for the Council of Ancients' corruption and treatment of them all. 

Most would, of course, insist it wasn't _bad_ treatment, and _technically_ they'd be right.

But it was a "not bad treatment" that was not-bad in the way you carefully train a pet into obedience and even complacency, with precise amounts of entertainment and surroundings constructed to seem perfectly good. More than good. Fair and right and just, with the pet loved and cared for. No reason to go look for or at the cracks in the corners or in the shadows.

Cracks that revealed the pet could be far more than it currently _was_. Cracks that revealed that once, _they had been_ more.

"I am no longer their _champion_ , and that should be visible to all, I think," Megatron said with a smile that could've burned off the chromanite layer in anyone's armour and held out an arm in demonstration, liquid and light sliding off the ivory metal and the jagged glyphs, so dark red they were nearly black.

"Lord Megatron."

Optics flickering at Soundwave's acceptance and understanding as well as the _title_ , Megatron allowed himself a moment of fierce pleasure. At what would be happening. At Soundwave's easy obedience. At finally discarding these glyphs.

He took a mesh cloth for himself to start in on his lower arms while Soundwave started to scrub at the set on the side of his upper arms, on the outer side of the tread housings.

Once, these sprawling, dark glyphs had been a pride and cause of _gloating_ to wear. But then, he'd been young and full of the "honour" bestowed on him, and drunk on the adulation of the massive audiences the games could draw. He hadn't just been one of the top gladiators, afforded the same sort of zeal and admiration the most famous racers were - he'd _also_ been chosen by the Council itself, favoured beyond just _fame_.

Being their champion wasn't just empty accolades and certain expectations in the tournaments; there'd been a few fights with ritual meaning as well. He was... not precisely _religious_ , but the motions, the (purported) _meanings_ behind and in those ceremonial combats had strung along his wide-optics, vent-caught _rush_.

He'd stood right at the top, heady and triumphant. He'd stood _right at the top_ and then... looked down. And suddenly found the mountain much smaller than it had been made out to be.

Engine rumbling quietly as he worked, Megatron smiled grimly as the liquid that fell from him started to turn dark, the glyphs fading in turn. It had been... a very, very long time since his frame had been unmarked.

In short order, it would be marked again, but by a symbol he'd chosen himself, _instilled the meaning into_ himself.

Stepping out of the spray as it started to turn clear again, Megatron traced his fingers over the slight indentations that was all that were left of the glyphs. The mirror along the wall opposite of where he'd put his cannons revealed his chassis in its stark bareness. There was not a speck of that dark red paint left, and all that was left was somewhat dulled ivory, black and some red, revealed on the insides of his lower legs and only barely seen under and between the armour on his arms. 

He felt... somewhat naked. In a _good_ way.

His optics briefly met Soundwave's golden visor, and his smile was more of a baring of his teeth.

"Not quite done yet, but it's an improvement, isn't it?"

Looking up from where he was picking up the sander and buffer, Soundwave tilted his helm in a gesture now familiar to Megatron, but he didn't reply verbally. Not that it was _needed_ , as his agreement radiated from from the tilt to his helm and the glow from his visor, to the quickening twist in his EM field.

Soon, even the lingering etched lines that had previously been filled in with paint had been done away with. Though they weren't _quite_ done, but Megatron didn't need to say anything as Soundwave lifted the etching tool, already knowing what needed to be done. 

It wouldn't be as permanent as a proper brand would be, but for now the delicate lines raised by the etching tool would serve their purpose. The room filled with the low humming noise and the smell of cut metal as the brand that would be Megatron's new faction was etched out and coloured in.

"Hmm. Good job, Soundwave. If you could..?" trailing off not because he wasn't about to ask, but rather because he _didn't need to_ , each of the cannons were attached in turn and the reflection in the mirror was now far, far more palatable.

No more glyphs, and the only dash of colour besides his own was the startling splash of purple on the left side of his chestplates, opposite of the sparklight.

"And now... We begin the war that will mislead a whole planet, to ensure the success of the goals that will _truly_ fulfil our potential," Megatron said with a chuckle after Soundwave had put away the tool, preceding the blue and white mech out of the washracks. Anyone else being marked could wait until later. This was about proving a point, starting a war, a symbolic action, and Megatron, being the first, the leader, the _symbol_ embodied the new faction outside and in.

"Yes, Lord Megatron."

***  
 **Kolkular/Kaon city border.**

It was something of an annoyance to have to leave his office so soon after _arriving_ , but he would hardly miss a meeting with one of his _regulars_. It was, however, curious that it wasn't _Starscream_ he was meeting this time... Shaking his helm and putting that inconsequential curiosity aside, Xeon sat back in his seat and watched the golden, partly see-through tunnel's ceiling and walls pass by.   
Outside it, hinted as towering shapes and angles, were the buildings of Kolkular. They hadn't yet passed down into Kaon proper, which was obvious by the slight incline of the tunnel as they went down the hill Kolkular resided on, towering above Kaon as these buildings shaded the tunnel.

The city-state of Kaon was no longer quite the force it once had been, but Xeon would never let it decline on _his_ watch. The natural resources might have mostly dried up, but the _skill_ \- labour, engineers, technicians - was all too proud to permanently leave unless circumstances forced their hand. So he'd made sure they'd prefer to travel between work and home, or have contractors come to _Kaon_ to make deals with its experienced engineers and technicians.

Most work might be found on the moons, in the Manganese Mountains in Tarn, in the Tagan Heights, Kalis or on the Hydrax Plateau, but Kaon's skill was going nowhere. The glory and eminence might be a bit scuffed, the smelting pools far less busy than they'd been in previous times, but Emirate Xeon had kept Kaon chugging along well enough and _long enough_ he'd been given both a second and third chance to keep it so.

So what, really, was a bit of _extra income_ on the side, for his pleasure? He worked hard, like anyone else in the city-state, so why shouldn't he deserve some energon goodies provided by others? Talking about work, however... with a sigh, Xeon pulled out one of the datapads he'd brought with him and bent over it just as they passed between the border of Kolkular and Kaon, noticeable as the ground evened out.

The gladiator arenas, old like the smelting pools, couldn't be found in Kolkular.

Oh, there were smaller, private ones, kept by those who had the income and interest to provide such entertainment, but the _state-owned_ ones had always been in Kaon proper. Xeon had never bothered to try and rebuild the state arena within the confines of Kolkular - more than one of his predecessor emirates had tried that, after Kolkular was made the capital.

Each of those attempts had ended... badly.

The citizens had seen it as taking away from their tradition, history and, more importantly, accessibility to the more or less popular sport.

So all _he_ had done was to make sure the arena in Kaon was kept with a modicum of upkeep, making sure to spruce it up extra before each tournament that would decide Kaon's candidate in the State Games. He wanted to make and keep money flowing in Kaon, not _waste it_ , so that had seemed the most prudent option.

It was also how he'd ended up with this lucrative little appreciation on the side, that had started during one of his inspection rounds of the arena. He'd been worried at first, but the... ah, _extra curricular_ activity and, well, street-level political agitation had long since proven to be harmless.

Going nowhere.

So why not take the gifts offered not to take his knowledge to the gathered Assembly of Emirates and the Council of Ancients?

***  
 **Gladiator Arena**

The core of the impending revolution was, currently, a room that probably wouldn't feature in anyone's imagination of where something as _dramatic_ and, in the view of most, _sinister_ as a war that was supposed to swallow as much of the planet as possible to make way for a more... meaningful organisation of society was being planned.

It was a room, had once been a storage room in the lowest sub-levels that the arena commandeered within its space. It had several screens hooked up, one full computer and a large, circular table. At the moment, when Megatron, Soundwave and Ravage stepped inside, three of the chairs were occupied. Two of the occupants straightened up, though the third remained slumped back in his seat for a moment longer before he, too, sat up properly, white wings splayed out arrogantly and chin raised.

"Starscream. Thundercracker, Skywarp." Megatron's optics slid from one Seeker to the next, Starscream's red optics narrowed but he tilted his helm; Thundercracker was keeping his golden optics lowered, the nod respectful - betraying a formality Megatron hadn't yet figured out where it originated from. It didn't have anything to do with his noble background, anyway. Skywarp... ah, Skywarp. Bright, wide golden optics that one could mistake for vacant, and an eager, but sloppy salute.

If Megatron hadn't seen what the vosian noble was capable of (and even _with_ having seen it) in their hidden arena, he might just as well have assumed he had a pampered and barely newly-sparked protoform who didn't know what they were about to do on his hands. That, however, wasn't true.

Skywarp might be lacking some in the processing power in some areas, but he was by far the most cruel of any of the three sitting at the table. Thundercracker was efficient, not spending more emotion, movement or violence than what was necessary - not even honing him in the private arena had changed or sharpened the gladiator's style of fighting. Starscream was showy. Not to say he wasn't _good_ at what he did, because he _was_ and nearly frighteningly so, but he expended more drama in a single fight than a week-long polyhexian twelve-act play could produce. Of course, that showiness caused many to underestimate him... a foolish thing to do.

Skywarp, however... he could be efficient, if he was motivated. If he wasn't, he took his time, inflicting dribbling bits of pain and violence with a single-minded gleefulness. If he wasn't of the opinion that their potential was all being _stifled_ in the way the Council conducted the whole planet, he might have been _surprised_ somebody living such a charmed life could and would inflict such damage. Not violence in general - careless, arrogant mechs were everywhere. Just that particular sort of outright glee about it.

"Are we _finally_ ready, then?" Starscream snapped, drumming his fingers on the table and meeting Megatron's stare with a sharp, chin-up one of his own as he levied a finger at Megatron with his other hand.

"I don't know, Starscream, _are you_? I did give you sole responsibility over the strike force for the attack on the Oratory," Megatron said slowly as he sat down, revealing neither a smirk nor a frown. He merely tilted his helm and looked the Seeker up and down, meeting his optics last.

Starscream, he'd found out early, was good with the nascent programming they carried within, had a knack similar to his own in planning... but he also tended to impatience with anything that he didn't have full control over. Starscream needed a firm hand to be properly _useful_ in all the potential and brutality he _could_ show.

"I--- _of course we are_!" huffing, Starscream growled as he tried to cover for the initial sputtering, pulling out a datapad and tossing it on the table with a loud clatter, "not that I had a lot to _work with_ , considering the _slim pickings_ , but _we_ are ready."

Picking the datapad up and skimming the list, Megatron hummed. Starscream would think an army of five million aerials, even _now_ , before they had even gotten any real experience with putting themselves to test for _real_ , was "slim pickings". On the other hand, since that meant he simply had (overly zealous, perhaps) rigid standards, for himself and others, Megatron didn't care as long as Starscream produced the _results_ he wanted, even with a small group.

"The three of you, Mega, Burntime..." as he continued down the list, the sum total was twelve aerials. Nothing on the seven thousand strong force that Soundwave would be in charge of, or the amount of mechs involved in the movement in total. Still, Megatron merely tilted his helm and offered the datapad back.

"If you're pleased with what you have, I'm satisfied."

"This is just the _best_ of a bad--- Er. Of course I am." Starscream stared narrowly at him, but when no further comment came, the Seeker snagged the datapad back and sat back in his seat with a smug grin. The only reason he kept any compliments in short supply and usually not straightforward was simply because of _this_ , right here. Starscream's ego and smugness at any accomplishment was a weapon as well as a trip-wire.

He wanted it to work _for him_ , not _against them_.

"Soundwave?"

The blue mech in question shifted, hands laced together on the table.

"Troop movements are finished, Megatron. Receiving relays confirmed. The emirate is on his way and will be on time as projected. Laserbeak, eject," Soundwave spoke slowly, each sentence short, simple, but not lacking in information for all that. At his last two words, his chestplating disengaged and allowed the avian-form cybertronian to fly out, briefly circling around Soundwave before he flew over to Megatron and landed on his right shoulder with a precision that was nearly _prim_.

"Laserbeak will broadcast from the arena."

Feeling a slow, pleasant burn of impending triumph - of course, this was just the _beginning_ , but beginnings had to be planned and orchestrated and that was now at an end - familiar from every single match he'd been in when he knew he was about to decisively end it, Megatron sat back in his seat with a grin.

"Then, yes, we are ready. Congratulations, we're about to change Cybertron forever."

Each of the six mechs besides Megatron in the room sat up a little straighter, and the anticipation radiating from them couldn't be mistaken. Things were about to become very, very real, beyond the isolated space of the hidden arena they'd carved out. Megatron's speeches had been well-known "secrets", but words were merely that. Words.

Now... well, now was the time for _action_.

***

It would be a few cycles before the day was at its hottest yet, and Xeon knew this was _nothing_ compared to what summer was for the equatorial torus states, but it was still his least favourite time of the year. Especially when he had to be _outside_. Like now. Putting his datapad away, Xeon still lingered in his vehicle until the representative had come up to the door. He stepped out then and managed a smile for the masked and visored mech, lightly touching his fingers to the armour above his spark chamber.

"Emirate Xeon," the representative said quietly in his peculiar monotone, touching fingers to armour in greeting as he dipped his helm as well and Xeon waved a hand.

"No need for that, Soundwave. I haven't checked, anything interesting going on?" nodding towards the arena towering up in its flat, open oval above them, Xeon eyed the structure with a critical optic. No need for a new layer of paint and polish yet, but within the next vorn or so it'd have to be budgeted for if he wanted to keep up appearances. What he really wished to do was to change the frankly _ghastly_ colouring of the building, but the plans for that the last time a repaint had been needed had leaked out and met with stiff resistance.

It was utterly _baffling_ , because, yes, _of course_ there was violent and in very, very rare cases (accidentally) lethal sports going on inside, but there really was no reason for the stark gray and _pink_ colours, were there? Absolutely tasteless.

"Training in the arena. The champion present as well."

Arching an upper optic ridge, Xeon tilted his helm. _The_ champion, indeed? There was more than one around, of course, but the most famous one in Kaon was the Council's appointed one. Xeon knew very well he was the real power behind the... 'gifts' he was being offered, though he hadn't met the mech in inofficial person yet. He'd have insisted he don't if it'd ever have come up, really. It hadn't, which made things far less awkward on the whole.

But he wasn't here today to meet the rabble-rousing, loud-mouth who agitated semi-secretly to gladiators and anyone else who would be willing to listen. He was here to meet the polyhexian representative, and if their meeting took them past the Council's chosen champion while he was training?

Well, nothing questionable with _that_.

"Well, while I wouldn't imagine interrupting the training, I'm sure our walk could take us past the location?" Xeon asked with a smile and Soundwave dipped his helm silently and turned lead the way inside the huge, garishly coloured building. More walking. Ah, well, no one ever said serving one's city-state was without its own sacrifices.

As they walked, intermittently engaging in a few simple exchanges that would lay the groundwork for more _substantial_ work later, and none of it having to do with the group Xeon knew Soundwave kept with here at the arena, he slowly realised they'd walked for... quite a while now.

The arena was large, yes, but it didn't take _that_ long to walk from the entrance to the stands around the ring itself. In fact, they, if he wasn't absolutely wrong, were a few levels _underground_ by now. With a frown, Xeon stopped.

"I _really_ don't have time for _surprises_ , Soundwave. I'm busy, and my work takes time, so unless this is _brief_..." he wasn't entirely stupid, of course, but he had never had anything to fear from this place, so while he was annoyed, _suspicion_ hadn't entered the picture yet.

"Apologies, Emirate. The arena is just a few steps further."

"The _arena_? Soundwave, we're _underground_ , and this is closer to... the..." trailing off, Xeon looked around as he followed Soundwave and realised that yes. It was very close to that underground arena Megatron conducted his... private... fights in. Xeon had never been _in it_ , of course, but brief visits by the 'backstage' area, where the combatants waited to be let in had happened several times. Only to pick up his dues, nothing more.

"The arena, yes," Soundwave said, not even looking at Xeon as he stopped and reached out to touch the panel at the side of the door. This was beginning to feel _very, very_ wrong.

Xeon engaged his vocaliser, dug his heels in - but Soundwave was surprisingly strong and he went stumbling in through the doors when the gap was barely wide enough, and then they closed behind him.

***

Stepping out into the middle of the ring, smaller than the _official one_ on the surface, Megatron's optics wandered around the audience as he tossed his arm up and sent Laserbeak winging up towards the ceiling. Compared to the normal audience for the state-sanctioned gladiatorial games, these were all killers. He had _made them_ into such. Had given them the tools to realise themselves.

Given tools to those who'd always felt... dissatisfied, but unable to figure out _why_. To all of those who had found that the gladiator arenas or law enforcement (but only being on the streets, not sitting behind a _desk_ ) soothed some unknown, deep part of... coding? programming? part of the spark? that could never be fixed on exactly. To all of those who hadn't even _known_ that frustration was there, but found it when they were given words, were given the ring and the explicit permission to cause as much damage as possible - indeed, to kill.

It didn't work for _all_ , obviously, and Megatron had some theories, vague and unformed but with certain patterns pointing towards a few particular conclusions. For those that it did work for, however, it worked most gloriously. Worked in a way that the structured and safe - dangerous and violent, but ultimately mostly _safe_ \- gladiator games didn't.

For other species, having, for example, limbs ripped off could either be lethal or severely disabling. For them... it was certainly violent but not inherently _problematic_ to overall functioning. It could be fixed. And so the games held a veneer of seeming danger that tickled the thrill of the audience and participants both.

Until you looked past that, and found it was all very much organised in a way that did nothing but smooth over the sharp edges and gaps that existed within some of them.

He hadn't understood it himself, until he found out about their past; a past that had spread from galactic horizon to galactic horizon, _properly_ challenging and realising their true potential. This, then, was about working back towards that. The Council of Ancients wouldn't approve, of course. It'd raze their carefully built and organised little doll house to the ground. 

With a smirk, Megatron spread his arms wide and the murmurs fell silent.

"Decepticons! We have been training for a long time now. Quietly, slowly, realising our potential and building up towards its fulfilment. You are all more than you were when each of you came into this arena. So far it has been about discarding the _helplessness_ and the _ennui_ that the Council preaches. Today? Today is about _refusing_ their watered down philosophy that would claim we are all the same, _to their faceplates_!"

Pacing a circle, giving the mechs in the stands his full, if brief, attention, Megatron revved his engine along to the roar of the audience.

"You have heard it all before, and now you _know_ it; we are more than they think us to be, more than they _want_ us to be. This arena is the proof of that. Few among us have proven incapable of unlocking their true potential... and while some have fallen, and others have remained wary, seeing nothing but words and wanting action before they act, that is exactly what we will give them now. For those who still are unaware, for those who have heard but not believed... for those who have seen but not committed yet, today it will all be revealed. The rest of Cybertron shall be made aware. It hasn't wanted to listen so far, preferring rather to turn off audio receptors for more - supposedly - rewarding pursuits. Isn't that _right_ , Emirate?"

Turning around towards the doors as they opened, Megatron grinned sharply at the white and blue mech with black details that stumbled inside, his brightly golden optics wide as he looked around and then settled to stare at Megatron where he stood in the middle of the arena. There were three cannons on the gladiator's form, two of which could easily be pointed at an opponent. There was also a sword at his side and resting against the raised floor area by the door was a shield.

"W-what?" Xeon's optics flickered around again, searching the audience and the arena. The expressions offered were all flat, closed off, or full of glittering anticipation. The arena itself was bare and had only one _seeming_ exit. Xeon then backed off and felt behind him, but the door was most definitely locked. " _What_ is going on here?!"

If nothing else, Megatron couldn't fault the greedy glitch for trying to remain in control of the situation after finding there would be no help from the surroundings.

"You have been of great help, Emirate, and for that we're thankful. We only need a bit more of your generous _assistance_ ," Megatron said with a slow, sharp smile that definitely bared too much teeth, "someone give him a weapon!"

After a brief moment of murmuring confusion from the stands, a few guns, a mace and an inert energo-spear clattered down on the floor around the emirate's feet. Xeon stared at the pretty impressive offering, face slack.

"I suggest you pick one of them, Xeon. Pick one and fight for your greed which let us get here. For Kaon, for _Cybertron_ as it is, which let you get where you are. Pick one, or I will simply rip you apart whether you can defend yourself or not." Staring quietly at Xeon as he shifted on his feet, looked around again and _almost_ bent down before he snapped upright and shook his helm.

Ah, still not ready to believe this was for _real_ , now was he?

"I'm sure we don't have to let it go _q-quite_ that far. I'm sure we... could..." Xeon trailed off, optics widening and slowly leaching to white as Megatron raised his right arm. The one with his cannon on. He ducked, not even capable of screaming as Megatron fired, merely spitting static and fumbling at the weapons on the ground before he darted down the steps as the shot seared into the metal of the wall behind him.

Unfortunately for Xeon, even as he turned around in some half-hope of being able to get out, Megatron had aimed too high. The shot had burned through the wall, yes, but diagonally upwards into the ceiling and exposing beams, cables and sparking wires as smoke billowed from the molten-edged hole.

"I _suggest_ you stop talking and _try_ to defend yourself, Xeon," Megatron rumbled and charged at Xeon, raising his sword into a swing. Xeon stared, mouth working emptily as his vocaliser glitched and then he _actually_ raised the gun he'd picked up...

The shot, however, went wild. And not because Megatron smacked it away. He hardly even had to _avoid_ the shot as he came upon the emirate, sword coming _down_ \---

And Xeon fell aside, engine shrieking instead of his malfunctioning vocaliser as he snagged up the shield and turned around, barely in time to have the sword fall with a ringing slash against the shield. That was more than he'd thought Xeon would be capable of, but it'd help him even less than trying to keep his distance and firing at him with a gun would.

"T-this is _madness_! What do you think yo---ack!"

The shield vibrated under the next swing, the strike producing a tone far more stressed than the first had done. Megatron knew his shield's weaknesses, but he wasn't actually about to simply hack and slash through it.

It was too good of a shield, for one.

"I suppose you're wondering what's going on, what you're _seeing_ , aren't you, _Cybertron_?"

Xeon's brief jerky nod trailed off into stunned incredulity as he staggered out of the way of the next strike, dragging the shield with him and trying to spot--- Megatron could tell the second the emirate had spotted Laserbeak and the little glow that revealed the data-storage altmode mech was recording. There was a reason Laserbeak was with him and not with Soundwave, after all.

Laserbeak was currently broadcasting to the whole of Cybertron, with Soundwave acting as a coordinator and strengthening the signal, sending it on to receivers placed by Decepticons in other city-states.

"Some of you have already heard what I'm about to say; know only that this is _the_ beginning. We are ready. For the rest of you..." as he spoke, his next swing was a fake-out, and Xeon turned as he was "supposed to", letting Megatron send the mech to the floor of the arena with a punch to his helm. The frankly _useless_ and laughably decorative black amourglass the mech had at the front cracked underneath the assault, shards flying everywhere and exposing inner wiring and workings.

"The Council is lying to you," Megatron deliberately lowered his voice as he glanced up at Laserbeak and into his camera, fully confident Laserbeak would make sure he could be heard anyway, and stabbed forwards, forcing Xeon to scrabble back, "the Council is cutting off access to our own home from us, through their so-called "forbidden zones" for supposed _safety_ in the same way as our lives are cutting down on our _true_ potential. Why don't we have full run of Cybetron? Why are we _stuck like we can't even transform_ on the planet's surface when we have the capability to travel beyond it?"

"M-megatron---gah!" Xeon's stuttered would-be plea ended on a static-laced cry as he didn't raise the shield in time and the sword first bit into his left shoulder, shearing off the upper kibble there and then snapped into his right knee. Xeon stumbled, but remained upright – he'd be far slower now, however.

"You have felt restless and ignored it for boredom - why are you ignoring it when that's your very programming telling you are being _suppressed_ , that you're not all that you can be? The Council _knows_ this is happening. It knows what that restlessness can do, what it _did do_ in the past."

Another feint and he met Xeon's bright-white optics with a cold smile right before he punched him and sent him flying, sliding over the ground and slamming into the stairs that led up to the dais and the doors out. Doors that were still closed and locked.

"This is your one and only warning, this is your _call to arms_ , Cybertron! We are here to become what we _were_ , no longer willing to sleep to the Council's lullaby, to let them restrict access to not just our own home, but the rest of the galaxy! We aren't meant to toil away like mere mechanimals, regardless of our form, on the surface of this planet. We're meant, we're _capable_ of so much more than that!" he paused briefly in his advance on Xeon as the emirate tried to get his feet back under him, swaying from the punches he'd taken and feeling around his shattered faceplate.

"The weapons some of us carry and others of you _could_ carry aren't just for our own self-defense. They could defend others as well, if we merely extend them. They could create a society where we don't have to feel stifled to merely keep to law enforcement or the gladiator arenas, where we don't have to hold back when a customer disrespects our policies..." he was mostly talking to _one_ part of the population, the one that he had noticed the pattern in that had mostly been the ones to listen and seek this arena out. Others would come too, and he would welcome them, but they didn't know this _itch_ \- at least not in the same way.

Some of them would definitely have noticed the increasing restrictions and "forbidden zones" the Council was installing everywhere, however, and would be chafing at that for different reasons. It was all angles that would assist him.

"We aren't drones, and yet, if you actually think to look, that's exactly what the Council is treating us as," Megatron growled as he ripped his shield out of Xeon's hands and grabbed the mech by the throat, lifting him up in the air as he swung around to stare over Xeon's helm into Laserbeak's camera, "the advancements we could make if we weren't held back, the potential we could make into reality... will you allow the Council to keep you chained, or take your destiny into your own hands?"

Ignoring Xeon's weak struggles and his fervent, muttered pleas and scrabbling at his hand, Megatron threw the mech to the ground and kicked down, bending and crushing the armour underneath his foot even as he pinned Xeon in place with it.

"Those of us gathered here are done with the Council's lies, and we welcome anyone else who is done too," Megatron said, dropping his voice into a quiet rumble again as he hefted his sword. Xeon raised his arms, but they were not enough of an obstacle. 

One slash, and he'd cut the arms into shattered metal, torn cables and sliced energon supply line. They fell against Xeon's chest, and his cries were deafened by the Decepticons chanting Megatron's designation.

A second slash, and Xeon's helm rolled away amid a shower of sparks.

A third swing, and Megatron stabbed his sword down through the weakly twitching hands down into the armour underneath, unflinching at the sudden flare of blue-white light that exploded and then trailed away in fleeing ribbons of paling blue. Bending down and picking up the helm, he held it up for both Decepticons, near and far, and the rest of Cybertron, to see.

"Kaon's destiny is no longer the Council's concern, for it will no longer answer to a mech that listens to the Council, and soon the rest of Cybertron's won't be, either! Decepticons... _transform and rise up_!"

Megatron's roar raised the arena into vibration as the Decepticons joined him and Laserbeak flew down from his perch and landed on his shoulder. Briefly after that, Megatron was at the head of the group that left Kaon's arena, joining up with the force Soundwave was leading.

In the other end of the city, in heart of Kolkular, the Grand Oratory went up in flames. It didn't take long for the rest of Kaon to start burning.

Megatron kept emirate Xeon's helm at his hip until he could place it at the arm of the emirate's chair, flames reflecting in the cracked glass of the assembly hall.


End file.
